


out of the woods

by disgracedwings



Series: The Summer Files [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Ending, Bunker Fic, Dean wants to help, M/M, but it has nothing to do with the finale, cas takes up gardening, post s8 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 07:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13993140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgracedwings/pseuds/disgracedwings
Summary: Castiel takes up gardening to keep himself busy and Dean just wants to know what he's up to.





	out of the woods

Castiel leans back, laying down in the middle of a clearing; eyes open, blue meeting blue, he drinks in the sky.  
  
He had been living at the bunker for several weeks before making the discovery: a clearing not ten minutes away from his new home, in a patch of woods. Stumbling into it after wandering along a trail stamped into the ground, he was quickly smitten by the bordering trees’ branches swaying low, dancing in the steady Kansas breeze, bunches of flowers sprouting up like patchwork along the field. He kept coming back to this patch of land nearly every day, walking into the clearing with rosy cheeks from the trek up, eyes bright, enjoying the fresh air and peace that fell over him whenever he returned. He’d often end up just laying back into the grass, sometimes staining the back of his shirt green in the process, and look up to the sky, longing filling his every cell.

He originally made the decision to start exploring the outside of the bunker after spending too much time inside avoiding his problems. He needed a means to escape the suffocation he was experiencing from being cooped up in the bunker, and grown more than tired of hiding out in his room avoiding Sam and Dean’s pitying looks. Even the prophet was much more careful around him than normal and Castiel knew he needed to get out into the fresh air and start doing something, anything, otherwise he himself would start believing that they had a reason to walk on eggshells around him. That he’d actually break at any moment.

That’s where he is now, looking up, enjoying the way the forest is alive around him, singing with fast pitched chirps and low coos. Birds whistling as they flit back and forth above him, Castiel watches entranced as they dance around his head; two mourning doves chase after each other, lining the blue sky with brief grey streaks. He breathes in and out, matching his pace with the warm breeze tunneling in through the trees, the rhythm satisfying something deep within. An ache he’s felt since falling, an emptiness that seems insatiable, but is somewhat soothed by the simple act of keeping in time with nature. Connections, that’s what he’s craving.

Castiel lets himself yearn for that broken link, to his brethren, to the blades of grass caressing his skin, the birds courting above his head. That’s why he likes coming out here, he knows. In the bunker everything felt stunted, he felt consumed, overwhelmed with loss but was too stubborn to reach out. Here he misses freely, wants freely.

With a tiny grunt Castiel sits up, crossing his legs and leans back on to his hands. His gaze moves from the sky to the ground smiling a little at the impression his stretched out legs had made in the clearing’s floor. _Mine_.

Smiling wider he reaches his hands out, running them through the blades, helping them back up to full height. Working his hands through the grass imprinted by his left leg he stops, hand on a tiny bud breaking through the surface.

Castiel hesitates slightly, “Hello there,” his voice curious, cracking from speaking for the first time in several hours. The little green plant is bending a bit to the side and Castiel can’t help but feel immediate remorse; he tries to prop it up, right one of his many wrongs. It continues to lilt and frustrated he mutters, “Come on,” to no one in particular.

If only his brothers and sisters could see him now, talking to a plant. Dean, too, for that matter. Maybe then he wouldn’t look as suspicious or left out whenever Castiel bustled past him, avoiding his eyes, on his way outside. _Dean_. He felt guilty about that, he supposes. He’d been avoiding him, and Sam, it was obvious he knew, but he found once he started it was hard to stop.

Frowning, he gives up trying to straighten the plant and looks around at the entirety of the clearing. He gets an idea, letting go of the broken bud he stands up, watching it tilt back to the side. There’s a lot of empty space here, space that could be filled with more plants trying to make a home for themselves in this world. He knew what that was like, he’d help them, help them like he maybe wanted someone to help him. He knew in order to help them he’d need some help as well, maybe now was the time to finally talk to Dean again, kill two birds with one stone. He winces slightly at the phrasing before strolling out of the clearing, head held high with a sense of purpose.  
  
Once Castiel gets back inside he frowns, already annoyed with the stuffy air in the bunker and fights an overwhelming desire to peel off his shirt and give his body a chance to cool down. The extremity of the summer heat isn’t something he’s used to, nor is it something he’s in any way fond of. He wasn’t even in the bunker one full day before he found himself searching the halls and then the basement for a thermostat. He gave up after an hour of looking, irritated and sweaty, and now blames the building’s outdated generator for its pathetic cooling system. At least when he’s outside there’s a good amount of trees providing plenty of shade and a constant flow of fresh air. Castiel sighs, and resigns himself to feeling strangled by his clothes now plastered down to his body with sweat, he is looking for Dean after all. Dean, who seems uncomfortable around Castiel’s somewhat nudity. It puzzles him, but he doesn’t question it, he hasn’t gotten past feeling like a guest and really doesn’t have the energy to argue with the ridiculousness of it.

Making his way into the common room of the bunker, usually reserved for group meetings or research, he finds Sam and Kevin, but not Dean. It looks like they’re writing, he finds himself hoping it’s to do with his brothers and sisters, but when he gets closer he sees that they’re playing a game. Hang man. He squints, trying to read the words, empty spaces and all. “‘Tu me gonfles?’” The two look up, surprised by Castiel’s sudden appearance, he wouldn’t admit it, but he appreciates still being able to pop in on people despite not having his wings. “The answer to your puzzle. Right, Kevin?”

“Uhh, yeah it is…”

“Hah!” Sam claps his hands together, obviously overjoyed. He reaches for the sheet of paper that Kevin now refuses to let go of, and manages to tear it away. Castiel can’t help but smile slightly at the wild, victorious look in Sam’s eyes or at Kevin’s mumbling and glares directed towards the two of them. “Tu me…is that French? That’s cheating, Kev.”

“Doesn’t matter, _he_ ruined it.” On the word _he_ Kevin points a finger accusingly at Castiel which only makes Sam laugh more as he fills out a crudely assembled score sheet.

“Alright so that’s 2 to 3, I won, and you,” he reaches out to ruffle Kevin’s hair, only to get his arm slapped petulantly away, “have to translate the rest of this passage all on your own.” Kevin looks like he’s about to protest, but then relents, grabbing a paper off the table quickly and all but stomps towards the library, shooting a final glare back at Castiel, before leaving the two men alone. Castiel stares after him, contemplative, and mentally puts the prophet on the list of people he’d like to make amends to. He’s very aware of Kevin’s small distrust of him, and knows that his prior harsh treatment of him has a lot to do with it. Ruefully he assumes he may have furthered that dislike and he sighs. Turning back to Sam he pauses a moment longer, letting Sam gloat in the moment before speaking.

“Sam, do you know where your brother is? I wanted to ask him something.” Castiel finds himself clasping and unclasping his hands, aware his request might seem unusual as of late. Sam, to his credit, only looks mildly surprised, it’s quickly covered up with a smile though, and Castiel finds himself relaxing.

“Really? I’m not actually sure, but I did see him walk through here like an hour ago. Honestly, he’s probably in the garage stress fixing the car; he’s kind of impulsive like that.”

“Stress fixing?” Sam eyes him sadly, that humiliating, pitying look in his eyes. It makes Castiel want to turn around and head back outside, but he tries not to show it. Sam’s heart is in a good place, no matter how much it grates into his pride.

“Listen, Cas,” Sam sighs, rubbing his hand over his face before continuing. Castiel steels himself, wishing to be anywhere but here, wishing for his wings again for the trivial fact that with them he was able to disappear when he was uncomfortable. “Dean he, he’s taking your situation pretty hard, whether or not he outright shows it. He wants to help you, Cas. We all want to help you.”

“Sam.” Castiel’s voice feels tight and hot, his skin feels prickly.

Sam continues, “I know you’ve been avoiding us, it’s pretty obvious, and I one hundred percent get that you have your reasons. But just—uh—remember that we’re here to help you. When you’re ready for it.” Sam lets out a breath when he finishes, like he’s been waiting for the opportunity to say that.

Castiel nods stiffly. “Thank you. Sam.” His voice sounds too rough, too unnatural, he knows it. He nods his head in the direction Dean might be. “I’ll just…the garage.” He hurries out of the room.  
  
Castiel reaches the garage door, and stills; his hand resting on the door handle, he lets out a whoosh of breathe he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. Pushing down the door handle he walks into the garage, smiling immediately when the smell of motor oil hits his nose. He hadn’t been able to hear it from the hallway, someone probably had the bunker sound proofed long ago, but heavy rock is now blaring all around him. He’s so suddenly overwhelmed with the sense of _Dean_ that he can’t help the way his mood lightens.

He hears Dean before he sees him, the man is singing along to the song off-key, giving away his location. Castiel walks through the line of cars, following the sound of Dean’s voice, and sees him dancing along to the beat. Well, half of him at least, the other half is still under the car, most likely stained by the car’s oil. He just stands there, quietly, entertained by the way Dean’s body wiggles, hips moving to punctuate certain words. If he wasn’t so keen on avoiding Dean, then he might like escaping to here, he thinks. Watching Dean work, it’s pleasant.

The song ends and Dean wheels himself out from under the Impala, eyes widening when he realizes he’s not alone. Castiel admires the slight blush coloring Dean’s face, clearly embarrassed.

“Christ, Cas. Didn’t know you could still do that.” Dean freezes a little at his words and fumbles with the tools in his hands, standing up. Castiel watches Dean, aware that he’s probably searching for something to say to cover up his self-consciousness. He valiantly holds in a snort when Dean awkwardly comes up with a clumsy snark of, “You enjoy the show?” which of course only causes him to redden further.

“Well, it was entertaining,” Castiel answers sarcastically, “Who knew a person could dance with a car half on top of them?” He watches Dean visibly relax, and they both mirror back a tentative smirk at the other.

“Heh, well it takes talent, and I wasn’t just dancing, there was singing and tuning, too. Don’t short change me, man.” Dean crosses over to a bench while he jokes, picking up a rag and wiping black oil off his hands. “So what’s up? You need somethin’?”

“Yes, actually. I was hoping I could get a ride into town. I’d like to buy gardening supplies,” Castiel answers back after only a moment’s hesitation, figuring immediate honesty would make things easier.

He watches Dean carefully, eyeing him when he looks up from his hands, surprised. “Gardening supplies?” It’s an honest question, no judgment, so with a quick inhale of breath he clears his throat and finds himself explaining.

“There’s this...clearing a short walk away from the bunker that I’ve been spending most of my time. It’s a good place for me to go and relax, and,” he stops momentarily, noticing Dean watch him and there’s something in his eyes that Castiel can’t place, but makes him want to continue, “work things out, in my head. It’s therapeutic, in short, and today I realized there was a lot of empty space I could utilize. Maybe help the plants already trying to grow there. I’d let the flowers grow wild of course…” He finishes lamely unable to go on, and looks at the empty space above Dean’s head.

Dean clears his throat, pulling Castiel’s eyes back to his, he’s smiling. “That sounds…great, Cas, really. When did you want to head out?”

Thankful Dean wasn’t pushing the subject more, he sighs in relief, letting out a, “Now, ideally.”

Dean grins at Castiel playful, with his eyebrows raised, humor clear on his face. “Cas, no offense, but you kinda look horrible,” he pauses and looks down at himself, “me too, actually.” Castiel wants to glare at the insult but Dean’s turned away from him, heading to the door and continues, “Alright, well I’ll go get cleaned up, try not to affront the people in town by marking up their stores with black fingerprints, and you just, like, throw on a clean shirt or something.”

He throws a smirk back to Castiel before walking back into the bunker. “Nice to know why your laundry has been so mysteriously green lately,” he adds, and then he’s gone, leaving Castiel to stare after someone for the second time today.

——

They head out into town an hour later, it had taken longer to leave than Dean originally planned; he obviously should have counted for the time it would take to convince Cas that it wasn’t exactly acceptable to go out in public smelling like dirt and sweat. Cas had stalked out of the garage after him muttering something about looking just fine, and it had taken added input from both Sam and Kev, the latter being all too eager to tell Cas that, yeah he smelled a little rank. He had to give it to the guy for putting up a good fight though, protesting that it would be pointless to wash up since he would go back outside as soon as they got home. Nonetheless, a pleasantly peppermint smelling Cas was currently sitting beside Dean as they drove into Lebanon, car freshly tuned, music blasting happily through the speakers.

Dean turns to look at Cas, who’s hair is being swept around by the warm breeze streaming in through the window, and fidgets a little, strumming his fingers on his thighs, a nervous tick he picked up long ago. He’s dying to know more about what Cas has been doing, out there in the damn woods of all places, and okay, he’ll admit to being a little hurt that Cas kept it from him. Watching for stores as they speed through Lebanon’s main street, he tries to consider why, and he gets it, kinda, he really does. Cas is going through a lot of shit and maybe he needed this, this one thing for himself, and Dean will give it to him. He won’t ask questions, just help when Cas wanted it, and right now he seemed to want it and it made Dean feel maybe a little warm inside.

He and Cas spot a store at the same time, Cas tapping on the window before obviously remember Dean’s _thing_ about that and moving his hand down quickly. It’s a local home improvement store and Dean checks out the exterior, mentally calculating their actual chance of finding everything they’ll need in this one place, while pulling the Impala into the store’s parking lot.

He grunts as he gets out of the car, silently cursing one of his many telltale signs of ageing. Walking over to Cas they look at the building together, Cas seems to be prepping himself to go in  
and Dean keeps a small distance, giving him time.

“Fisher’s Hardware Store,” Cas’ voice curious as he reads the sign out loud; Dean can’t see his eyes because of the black sunglasses Cas has taken to wearing, but he’d bet some good money Cas was squinting right now.

Dean finds himself squinting, too, the damn Midwestern summer sun was blinding, but ends up somewhat preoccupied watching Cas’ form. Dude’s wearing one of the few t-shirts he owns, a plain gray one he probably got in a pack from Walmart, or whatever, and a faded pair of Dean’s own jeans. His dark hair is curling at the tips from sweat, and now that Dean is finally able to place why Cas has been getting so tan lately, he’s definitely more appreciative of the way his friend’s face is glowing because of it. “It’s a trustworthy name.” Cas’ words bringing him out of his reverie and he clears his throat, blushing slightly, hoping if Cas notices, he will just assume it’s from the sun.

“Uh, yeah. Classic handy man name, that’s how y’know they’re good.” Dean bullshits his answer, rubbing the back of his neck quickly and heads to the door.

As soon as they get inside, they’re hit with a godsend of fresh air and Dean hears Cas hum beside him in appreciation. He’s noticed that Cas doesn’t seem to like the heat, it’s been a source of frustration for Dean, actually. The guy apparently decided he was above sweating in his shirts like the rest of them, and has been shedding his clothes, walking around the bunker without a shirt and in basketball shorts. He’s gotten caught ogling his friend a couple times now and if Sam sees him doing it one more time Dean might just die of embarrassment.

He watches Cas glance around the store, obviously intrigued. The place smells like paint and wood dust, and from what he can tell there’s only one employee working in the whole store, a teenage girl sitting behind the counter. Poor girl’s probably the granddaughter, or something, of whoever owns the place, forced to work here during the summer by her parents in the hopes that she learn some responsibility. Her legs are propped up, head bobbing as she mouths along to some tinny pop song coming out of an outdated boom box resting in-between the cash register and a classic bubblegum machine. She looks up briefly at their arrival and smiles as a welcome. Dean lifts his hand back in greeting before turning back to Cas, who by now has wandered off somewhere.

Dean doesn’t go to look for him, guessing that he just wants to do his own thing for now, and so goes on his own mission of finding gardening tools he think Cas might need.

After walking through the aisles for about ten minutes, dropping the best tools he could find into his basket along the way (Dean wasn’t about to half-ass this, they could afford to spend the extra cash if it meant giving Cas a much needed pick-me-up after falling), he makes his way to the corner of the store, the only place he hasn’t been, and where he figures Cas disappeared to. When he reaches the end of the aisle though, he stops, bemused by the sight before him.

Standing in front of the back wall lined with shelves and shelves of seed packets, was Cas. The former angel was still, holding a couple of seed packets in both hands with one hand held up to his face. Dean watches in amusement for a few seconds, resting his elbow up on the shelf beside him, while Cas scrutinized the packets. He smiles a bit to himself at Cas’ furrowed brow and tilted head, before clearing his throat to announce his presence.

Cas looked away from the offending packet to meet Dean’s eyes briefly in acknowledgement, before turning back to the wall of seeds before him, resuming his look of concentration. Noticing Cas’ troubled expression, he breaks the silence, “You waiting for them to break out in song?”

Cas sighs before answering. “Funny, Dean, but no.” He holds up the seeds in his other hand, reading the directions on the back, Dean makes out the word coneflowers on the packet Cas is analyzing and a picture under it of pink flowers with long stems. “There’s just so many options to choose from, what if I make the wrong choice? Perhaps I should’ve done some research before coming…”

Dean huffs awkwardly, slightly uncomfortable with Cas’ worries, and toys with a box of fertilizer on the shelf he was leaning on. “They’re just plants, Cas, and hey, if you do end up killing these things then we can always come back and buy more no problem.”

“I’m tired of killing things, Dean,” Cas says with a frown, exasperation clouding his tone. He doesn’t continue and judging by his tense shoulders he clearly doesn’t want to elaborate. Dean’s stomach knots at where Cas’ mind is going and he bites at his bottom lip, searching for a more positive direction to steer their current, guilt-heavy topic.

“I know, okay, quick-fix. So it’s summer, right?” Cas turns and eyes him steadily. “So buy the plants that grow well in the sun. You can worry about the more complicated plants another time.” Dean finishes with a slight wave of his hands, goofy smile planted on his face.

Cas nods slowly, “Yes that was the plan, but I got overly enthusiastic.” He holds his right hand, clutching several different packets of flower seeds, out in front of Dean’s face, “I found these and they’re now my favorite, but they wouldn’t actually bloom until fall. Whereas these,” and he shakes the ones in front of his own face, “claim to grow well in the sun all year round.”

Dean watches Cas and holds in a laugh when it looks like he’s close to pouting. Cas stares at all the packets, considering before grumbling, “Fine, the sun-loving perennials it is then.” Huffing a bit, he puts the packet of flowers he’d grown attached to, a purple one called larkspur, back on the shelf. He stares at it wistfully before meeting Dean’s eye, motioning for them to walk to the cash register.

His shoulder brushes Dean’s as they walk towards the checkout counter, and Dean sees Cas eye the basket he’s carrying interestedly, before looking up at Dean with a half-smile, question clear on his face. Dean just gives a little smile in response before looking down shyly, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Thank you, Dean.”

And that was all that needed to be said for now, Cas reaches out and gently takes the basket, putting it on the counter in front of the teenage worker and begins to unload its items. He pulls each tool out, turning them in his hands, before laying them on the counter, while Dean stands there dumbly, face warm, goose bumps down the arm Cas brushed against.  
  
Back home Cas is out of the car as soon as Dean pulls into the bunker’s garage, clutching a canvas shopping bag full of the brand new gardening supplies and seeds; Dean shakes his head, watching him as he goes. That shopping bag had been a last minute buy; that damn teenage girl had pushed it onto them, Cas’ eyes wide listening with intent as she went on about its “environmental benefits” listing off textbook reasons she was learning in her summer school class. He had smiled as he watched Cas and the girl talk, Cas obviously immersed in what the teen was saying, nodding along, offering input, probably definitely something he learned in the last millennia.

Dean thinks the girl maybe had a small crush on Cas from the way she was blushing under Cas’ gaze, intense, as he gave her his undivided attention. He can’t blame the poor teen, though, Cas has a way of flustering people, Dean included. His mind drifts off on a tangent then, something about chapped lips and bluer-than-hell eyes, and when he refocuses he realizes he’s staring at empty space, eyes on the door that Cas disappeared through.

When Dean gets inside he makes his way into the kitchen where Sam was sitting down to eat lunch. Sam runs his hands through his hair as he looks up, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Hey, so how’d the shopping go?”

Dean opens the fridge, reaching for a beer, before mentally checking himself and grabbing a Coke instead, “Good, went to some mom ‘n pop store. Some kid was flirtin’ with Cas.” Sam barks out a laugh and points towards the bread and cheese sitting on the counter. Dean nods in acknowledgement, eyes lighting up, “’M starving.”

“So Cas is really into this gardening thing, huh? I was wondering where he’d been going the last few weeks. I’ve been getting kinda worried about him, honestly.” Dean hms his confirmation, licking his lips at the sizzling of melting butter on the warm skillet in front of him. He hears Sam continue talking, something about being distant, but his mind goes elsewhere.

Eyeing the butter as it slides to the left of the pan he thinks about Cas, about his distress over the possibility of screwing up with gardening. His heart had ached, a bit, knowing he wasn’t allowed to help. Despite not actually saying anything Dean knew Cas wanted to do this on his own, for now at least. He puts the soon-to-be grilled cheese on the pan racking his brain for a way to help his friend without actually screwing with the dude’s pride. When he finally figures something out he flips over the sandwich excitedly, then turns around to face Sam.

“Hey, so I think I’m gonna head out again later.” Sam cocks his eyebrow and Dean continues, “Yeah, Cas seemed a little concerned with the flowers’ well-being,” and he stops briefly to grin at how endearing it actually was, “and I thought he’d maybe like to have a guide for growing flowers. Or you know, something like that.” His face starts to grow warm and he turns back around quickly, not really looking at Sam, flipping his sandwich over one last time and beaming childishly at it being the perfect golden brown.

Dean knows Sam is probably smirking behind him right now, but when he speaks his voice is steady, like he knows he has to be careful. “That sounds like a really good idea, Dean. Cas will love it.”

“Yeah, yeah okay,” Dean says waving his brother’s words away, embarrassed. He takes a giant bite of his sandwich, turns back around to face Sam, and with an impish smile on his face starts chewing with his mouth open. As soon as Sam catches on with a repulsed look, Dean stuffs the rest of the grilled cheese in his mouth and walks out of the kitchen laughing.  
  
——  
  
Castiel breathes in steadily, hunched over, turning the soil with his bare hands. He had originally used one of the shovels Dean had bought him, but found the process of digging up the ground calming. The dirt massaging his hands as he burrows them into the cool earth, turning it over repeatedly, then starting the process up again with another unbroken piece of ground. He’s been outside for several hours, having made his way straight to the clearing upon getting home; the sun beats down on him as he works, and Castiel knows his neck will be burnt by the end of the day. It’s methodical, what he’s doing and he hasn’t been this relaxed since—well since. There’s peace to find in the easy pace he’s set as he connects himself with nature: digging, turning, patting, repeat.

Castiel is happy being out here alone, he knows that, but a small part of him can’t help but feel bad. Dean wants to help, he’s made that clear; Sam has made that clear as well but it’s different. It’s obviously different. A bigger part of him doesn’t give a damn, though, thinks he’s entitled to being selfish for now. Yes, he’s allowed to be at least a little selfish, to keep some things to himself, close to heart.

His stomach starts to hurt, thinking about Dean, so he pushes it down, out of the way, letting himself be consumed by the task at hand. This is what he’d been craving, what he wanted earlier in the day, laying back with the grass as his pillow, sun enveloping him in a blanket of warmth, connections.

Diggings his fingers into the damper parts of the dirt Castiel pauses, looking up at the sky, the near setting sun. How long has he been out here? His hands start to feel cold where they rest and he pulls them out of the hole he’d made, inspecting the dirt stuck under his fingernails. He thinks about Dean again, how the hunter ends up with car oil on his skin and clothing after spending hours under the hood of the Impala. Dean is proud of those stains, he doesn’t say it, but Castiel knows. They’re a sign of his work, something he put out into this world, a physical badge of his effort, of what he’s fixed. Castiel lowers his hands to his lap, deciding against scraping the dirt out of his nails, refrains from wiping his hands on his worn jeans. This will be his badge, proof that he too has helped, in some small way or another.

He reaches for the purple bag, a recycling logo printed on to the front, and pulls out the seeds they bought at Fisher’s Hardware, heart drumming excitedly. Castiel had read and reread the directions listed on the back of the packets on the way back to the bunker, until he realized with dismay that he felt nauseous if he wasn’t looking at the road when the car was moving, but he reads them again now, wanting to be entirely sure.

Castiel had started himself off at an easier level, the majority of the seeds he bought all required the same depth, all would germinate within the same number of days. He adds some more fertilizer to the soil he’s turned over, just to be safe, before planting the first seed into the ground, a type of perineum that promises pale-pink leaves and an apple-like scent. Next were the allium seeds, their deep, pink, pom-pom shaped leaves having appealed to Castiel when he saw their picture on the store shelf.

He continues like this for some time, hydrangeas, sedums, butterfly weeds, Castiel chose the last one based solely on it’s unfortunate name. Who would he be if he didn’t give the plant a chance?

The sky is a dark pink blending into the night’s vast purple when he finally finishes, sweat cooling on his brow, back aching from being bent over for so long. He cherishes these new feelings, counts them as evidence of his hard work. Crickets chirp around him, singing their mating call back and forth across the field and he hears a lone owl calling out into the night.

Castiel hadn’t noticed it before, had been too engrossed in his work, but he’s starving. Stomach growling uncontrollably, giving the forest’s put-on orchestra a run for its money. He tries to remember the last time he ate but comes up with nothing but a bagel and coffee at breakfast.

He wonders what Dean would say, knows the man would sit him down and spoon feed him if he thought it would help; Castiel chuckles to himself thinking about it. Pushing himself up, he stretches, a quiet groan escaping his lips, he’s careful to not step on the mounds of soil, seeds tucked away safely inside.

Castiel picks up the empty packets, dropping them into the canvas bag, and walks out of the clearing, noting he should start bringing a flashlight in case he stays out this late again. While cautiously navigating his way through the trees he realizes his stomach is aching for a different reason than hunger. He thinks about the day’s search for a link, to something, nature, he originally thought, but he’s beginning to realize that might not be enough. The universe? A link back home, definitely, but it’s more than that. To people? His mind immediately supplies an answer. To Dean.

That’s why he asked him for help this afternoon, isn’t it? He had wanted to help the clearing behind him…and he had wanted help himself. Sam had told him earlier that they wanted to help him through this, _but it’s easier to shut them out_ , he thinks. He sighs to himself, frustrated because this is harder than it should be.

  
By the time Castiel makes his makes his way out of the woods he feels ridiculously proud of himself for figuring it out. Figuring out one of the many reasons behind the ache in his chest, beating low but constant, always reminding him it’s there.

Yes, connections, that’s what he was craving.  
  
——  
  
Dean had looked up bookstores in the Lebanon area, ones that actually sold boring how-to guides, and was gone within thirty minutes of his conversation with Sam. He had strolled up and down the store aisle marked home and garden, pulling a book from the shelf every now and then, usually frowning and putting it back for not being _right_.

It took him awhile, but he finally found what he considered the perfect book. One he knew Cas would like, and that he thought was pretty cool, too, you know, just in case Cas wanted Dean to help with this project.

He had made a last minute stop at that hardware store, also, walking straight to the back of the store and grabbing those damn purple flowers Cas had been making heart-eyes at earlier. He didn’t let himself think too much about that one, otherwise he’d get embarrassed, he knew, and not want to give them to Cas.

Dean had waited a while that night, hanging around the bunker’s living room, willing Cas to come inside so he could give him his present. Well, not a present. It’s not a present. That sounds too eager even for him. It’s…okay, it’s a present. A boring one at that, but he knew Cas would like it. Didn’t matter though because Cas didn’t come inside until late, later than usual, and had just gruffly made his way to the shower, swatting away invisible mosquitos he swore were—and Dean fucking laughed at this—plaguing him.

Dean wanted to give the gift to Cas the next day, was totally ready, had a little speech planned and everything, but he chickened out. He chickened out the next day, too. So now he’s sitting here, several days later at the kitchen table, pot of coffee made, hoping the smell will tempt Cas up earlier than usual. He’s not disappointed.

Heavy steps make their way down the hall towards Dean and he looks up just as a disheveled Castiel appears in the doorway. Lifting the mug of coffee in his hand Dean smiles, “Mornin’, Cas.”

Hair wilder than usual, Cas rubs a hand over his eyes, and offers Dean a grunt in way of a good morning. Dean, with his mouth lifting up further at the corners in amusement, watches Cas shuffle towards the coffee pot. Once his back is turned Dean reaches for the book and packet of seeds in his lap. Putting them on the table he waits until Cas plops down in the chair across from him before pushing the gifts right in front of Cas.

Taking a long drink of coffee, Castiel looks down at the items, his ugly orange mug covering half his face, leaving Dean to decipher Cas’ reaction by his eyes and furrowed brows alone—so basically, like usual. Cas slowly sets the mug onto the table reaching out to touch the book. Dean’s stomach is doing flips like it’s going for the gold, and when Cas looks up at Dean his damn eyebrows still scrunched up in what Dean’s really hoping is a question, he just nods and watches in awe as Cas’ face lights up.

With wide eyes Cas pulls the stuff closer to him lifting up the seed packet and whispers, “Dean.”

Dean shifts in his seat, self-conscious, and clears his throat. “Yeah I, uh, I was out anyways…um, running errands…” He trails off and takes a chug of coffee grimacing as he swallows down the drink. A smile is playing on Cas’ lips and Dean feels his traitor face turn red.

“Well, thank you regardless.” Castiel casts one last knowing glance at Dean before diverting his attention to the book in front of him, saving Dean from further embarrassment. He earnestly turns the pages and Dean watches Cas’ face captivated, his eyes move from left to right with intent and Cas’ smile gets wider and wider with each turn of the page.  
  
Dean wants to say something, maybe ask if Cas would be okay with Dean joining him in his garden—and how weird is that, how normal?—one day, but Cas beats him to it, levelling him with a heartfelt look and asking, “Dean, would you like to come out and help me sometime?”

Dean responds with a grin, his nerves suddenly calmed, “I thought you’d never ask.” And then him and Cas are just staring at each other, green eyes studying blue and Dean can’t help but smile. At how they got here, at where they might be going, because he’s happy, and isn’t that something?

**Author's Note:**

> Dean and Cas will get progressively closer over the series, that's a given. Let me know if there's any glaring errors and thank you for reading! ❤
> 
> Oh and tu me gonfles is some variation of you annoy me.


End file.
